


Less I Know The Better

by RandomlyGeneratedSyllables



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Archivist!Tim, Monster!Jon, Sort Of, Spiral!Jon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 16:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20085442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomlyGeneratedSyllables/pseuds/RandomlyGeneratedSyllables
Summary: Michael holds out a hand, beckoning, offering.“It won’t hurt a bit,” it says, mouth twisting into that familiar, subtly wrong smile. It is lying, of course.Jon takes it.





	Less I Know The Better

A tape recorder clicks on.  
  
“So, what, I’m supposed to just... Talk into this thing? Really?”  
  
“I guess so.” Despite the careful apathy, the words carry an undercurrent of bitterness.  
  
”You guess? Should I... Not?”  
  
A short, abrupt laugh. “I mean, _I_ think you should, but I’m not exactly in the right state of mind to decide otherwise, if you know what I mean.”  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
“Right. Of course you don’t.”  
  
He clears his throat. “Statement of Natalie Baker, regarding the feeling of being watched. Statement taken direct from subject, June 18th 2017. Statement begins.”  
  
“I guess it started with the bus. Well, it’s probably more accurate to say it started with the people on the bus. I was going to work, and I had been staring out the window, just watching the world go by, when I saw something in the reflection, just for a second. I turned my head to see what it was, and that’s when I saw them. Two men, sitting in the seats opposite me. I remember them very clearly, even now. The one sitting next to the window had a very sharp kind of face, and there were streaks of grey in his hair, although he couldn’t have been over thirty. He had these scars, too, all across his skin, all perfectly circular. I can’t really imagine what they were from. The other was tall, and blond. He was smiling, so widely I remember thinking it must hurt, and he was holding the first man’s left hand in his lap, tracing some kind of pattern on the back of it with his fingertip.  
  
”There was something... Wrong, about them. I’m not—I’m not homophobic, or anything, that’s not what I mean, it’s just... Looking at them made my eyes feel weird. Like one of those trick paintings, where where you refocus your eyes and it’s a different image, except I couldn’t quite see what the second one was.  
  
“I must have been staring, because the taller man looked up at me. His smile seemed to grow even wider, although I wasn’t sure if that was even possible, and he nudged his partner’s shoulder and whispered something. The other one looked at me then, and I almost screamed. For a moment, I could see that second picture, and it was the most awful thing I have ever seen. Where the blond haired man had sat there was this... Thing. I don’t know how to describe it, really. It almost looked human, except it also really didn’t, and it was like I was looking at a dozen different things in the same place, shifting and changing, except it was also just the one thing, and it was awful. It was still drawing patterns on its partner’s skin, but now its knife sharp fingers were cutting through the flesh, and although the wounds healed almost as soon as they were made, I could see the pattern. It was an eye. If eyes was made of fractals, I suppose. Then I looked at the other one, and I think I did scream, although I don’t remember doing so. I don’t think I can describe it. I don’t even know if I really know what I saw. I just remember... I looked at it, and I _knew_ that it was listening, watching, observing me in every possible way. And I knew that _it_ knew that I knew, as soon as the thought crossed my mind. I wanted desperately to run, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere that it couldn’t see me. It smiled, slow and deliberate, although it didn’t have a face to do it with. I don’t know what happened after that. The next thing I remember is sitting at my desk, doing some paperwork. There was an eye, roughly carved into the wooden surface, and my fingernails were broken and bloodied.  
  
“I thought I was going mad, honestly. That I’d had a psychological break or something and I was just attaching it to some random couple I’d seen on the bus. That watched feeling never went away, but I ignored it. Told myself it was just my mind playing tricks.  
  
“And then, three days after it happened, when I left my flat, there he was. Not doing anything suspicious, really, just... Chatting. He was talking to my neighbor. You know, I can’t quite remember her name. Cathy, maybe. He was talking about her grandchildren, what they were doing. At the time I’d assumed he’d seen them recently and was telling her about it, but now that I think about it, I don’t think that’s what it was. His partner wasn’t anywhere in sight. I said hello. I’m not sure why, in retrospect. Maybe I thought if I acted like everything was normal, it would be okay. That he would just turn out to be a normal human person, that this was all just a crazy coincidence. I told my neighbor I didn’t know the two of them knew each other. With a shaking voice, she told me they didn’t. I... wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say to that. I thought maybe I’d heard her wrong? So I just kind of smiled at her. The man said it was time to go, and twisted the corner of his mouth up in a way that was almost a smile. He didn’t move. She nodded, and left through a door. I don’t think it was her door. I certainly think I would have remembered that bright yellow paint.  
  
“Then I left. I didn’t really know what else to do. I was going to be late for work. All the way down the hall, I could feel the man’s eyes on me. Watching. I didn’t look back.  
  
“It got... Worse, after that. People would stare at me, when I passed them. I know they were staring. I could _feel_ their gazes, burning into my skin. But when I turned around, they all pretended they hadn’t been looking. I started finding eyes drawn in the margins of my papers. No one else had access to them, so they couldn’t have drawn them, but I definitely don’t remember doing it. I couldn’t have. They were way too detailed for my frankly abysmal drawing abilities, and even then, I don’t think I could make them all so uniform. They varied in size, but they were always exactly the same eye, repeated over and over again. More of them kept appearing, on my desk, on my walls... Once I woke up with one scratched into my stomach. I’d been trying to ignore it, to just get on with my life. Maybe I was hallucinating. Maybe I was having memory loss. I was just hoping if I didn’t pay attention to it then it might go away, I guess. Then he showed up at my work.  
  
“I had just been about to leave, when I saw him. He was just standing there, leaning against a wall, watching the people walking by with an expression of mild interest on his face. Then he spotted me. He walked up, and held out his hand, apparently for a handshake. It was his left hand. There was a pale, intricate scar traced across the back of it, those thin fractal lines spiraling out into eternity. I introduced myself. It was the only thing I could think to do. I gave him my name, and I asked for his. He laughed, then, and told me he’d lost it. He’d quit his job, you see. I didn’t, and I told him as much. He laughed again and told me I would. He said if I really wanted to, I could call him the Watcher. I didn’t. I said it was nice to meet him, but I didn’t take his hand. He smiled, and told me he thought I was very interesting. I remember exactly how he said it. ‘Very interesting,’ with the kind of tone a scientist might use to describe a new sample of bacteria or something. I left, after that. I haven’t seen him since, but I’ve seen a lot of new doors around town. Yellow ones. Something tells me I won’t be watched anymore, if I go through it. I think it might be lying. I think I might do it anyway. There’s an eye, painted on my bedroom ceiling. Sometimes I can see it blink.”  
  
The silence stretches out after the last word. “Statement ends.”  
  
“...Right. So... What now?”  
  
“Statement’s done. Door’s that way.”  
  
“Oh. Okay, it’s just... I thought maybe...”  
  
A scoff. “Yeah. I did too, at first.”  
  
The tape recorder turned off.

* * *

  
“Not really anything to follow up on, here. Freaky hand guy is definitely Michael, with its fucking door, and... I have a nasty feeling I know who the other one was. I-“  
  
“Tim?”  
  
”What do you want, Elias,” he says through gritted teeth.  
  
“Nothing much,” Elias replies, voice level. “Just to inform you that your position as ‘Acting Head Archivist’ might be a bit less temporary than previously thought.”  
  
“_What_?“ Tim surges to his feet.  
  
“Don’t act so surprised, Tim. We both knew Jon wasn’t coming back.”  
  
“You _said_ it was only until you found someone new!”  
  
“I believe my exact words were ‘until either Jon returns or I find a _suitable replacement_.’” Elias corrects pleasantly. “Which I have. You. Why would I spend the time looking for someone new when you’ve already started growing into the role?”  
  
“I’ve already- Don’t be ridiculous!”  
  
“Oh, please, Tim. Do you really think that Ms. Baker gave you her statement because of your _charming disposition_?“  
  
He deflates slightly at this. “Oh. Is that- Is that why we had so much trouble with the live statements, before...”  
  
“Before you became the Archivist. That is correct.”  
  
“Right. I should have known there would be a catch. There always is with you, isn’t there?” He says bitterly. It’s not like Elias has ever played fair. He shouldn’t have expected him to start now. “I’m going to go get some air.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Tim leans against the brick wall, and sighs. He almost wishes he smokes, at times like these. At least then he’d have an excuse to leave the Archives, to not feel the constant gaze of the Eye as he works. He’d been fooling himself, thinking that the Archivist position was only temporary. Even now he can feel it tugging at him, reminding him that there is still work to do, things to be known.  
  
“Hello, Archivist.” A familiar voice emanates from the darkness, sounding ridiculously pleased with itself.  
  
He shuts his eyes. “Hello, Jon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment here, or come talk to me on [Tumblr!](https://randomlygeneratedsyllables.tumblr.com/)


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